Demon Hunting In the Deep South (23 page)

“You’re wrong. I’m afraid of everything.”

“And yet you persevere in spite of your fear. That is true courage. A weaker woman would have crumbled beneath the trials you have endured.”

He thought she was beautiful and strong. He must be on Dalvahni crack. She gazed at the red gown with longing. A dress like that would make a woman unforgettable—if she had the nerve to wear it.

Making an appearance at Fright Night in that dress would be a bold statement, the one-finger salute to the killer, if he or she were there.
I am here. I am not invisible. I will fight.

Addy would wear the dress. She was bold and fearless. But she wasn’t Addy.

She didn’t realize she’d voiced her thoughts aloud until Ansgar spoke.

“Your reticence is a cloak you use to hide your true self,” he said. “I have always known this about you.”

“You’ve only known me a couple of days.”

One day, nine hours, and twelve minutes, to be precise. But who was counting? She was, every glorious second with him.

He hesitated. “Time is of no consequence. I knew you in an instant.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Evie said. She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice. “I wish I could believe it.”

“Then allow me to convince you,” he said.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She went up like a torch, gasoline to his fiery spark. The nearness of him, the warmth of his touch, the clean, spicy scent and intoxicating taste of him wiped everything else out of her mind. The dance, the dress, her fears . . . all forgotten.

She wanted him with an intensity that shocked her. She’d never allowed herself to want anything before, to hope for anything.

Wanting Ansgar was the height of foolishness, like trying to lasso the moon with a ribbon of silk. She didn’t care. He would break her heart. She didn’t care about that, either. This was her chance, maybe her one chance, and she was going to take it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Chapter Twenty-two

A
nsgar urged Evie’s lips apart and dipped his tongue inside the honeyed, warm cavern of her mouth. With a little moan, she pressed her body closer and tasted him, little silken brushes of her tongue that turned his blood to liquid fire and nearly brought him to his knees.

He’d been too long without her. He wanted her too much. The hazy, lust-fogged thought registered over the frenzied pounding of his blood. His hands gentled along her slender back, moving past the enticing curve of her waist to cup her lush bottom. He pulled her closer, nudging the sweet haven between her legs with the bulge of his aching cock.

Sweat trickled down his back and beaded his brow. By the sword, she strained his already-crumbling self-control. He wanted to take her now, plunge inside her with swift, hard strokes. Standing up, on the bed or on the floor, it mattered not. After months of wandering lost, he was starved for her.

But that would not convince her of anything except his rapacious need, a need that she would attribute to animal appetite and nothing more. It would not convince her that she was beautiful and strong. She could see neither. It was up to him to show her, to give her the confidence she needed and deserved.

It took every ounce of his willpower to release her and step back.

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes soft with desire and confusion. “What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. There is something you need to see.”

“What?”

“You.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Her eyes widened, and her mouth, still soft and rosy from his kiss, formed an astonished “o” of surprise. She looked back at him from the wall of mirrors. He could almost see the questions fluttering through her mind like so many startled birds. But she was quick witted, his ladylove. She’d seen proof of his powers the day before, when he repaired the damage to her bathing chamber. So, she did not ask him how he’d transformed her bedroom wall into polished glass. She bypassed the tedious “how” and went straight to the heart of the matter.

“Why?” she asked instead.

Standing behind her, he met her questioning gaze. “It is time you abandoned your disguise and unveiled your true self. Remove your robe.”

Her cheeks grew pink. Shyness, reluctance, curiosity, arousal, and dismay flitted across her lovely features in rapid succession.

“Now? Like this? I don’t think I can.”

“Of course you can. Unknot the sash, Evangeline.” His pulse quickened in anticipation as her hands crept to her waist and unfolded the twist in the cloth. The garment she wore was simple, plain even, but nothing could diminish her allure. She was a thousand times more comely and captivating than the most provocatively clad thrall. “Good. Now, let it fall.”

With a soft swish, the fabric belt dropped to the floor and the robe parted. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of Woman before she grabbed the garment and covered herself.

“But what is this? You regress.” He slid his hands down her arms to lightly caress the backs of her fingers. “I want to see you.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, her grip on the fabric tightening. “I can’t . . . the mirrors.”

He could see her heart thudding through the thin fabric of her robe. His own heart was racing at a gallop. He bent his head and nuzzled the back of her neck. Tonight, she smelled of jasmine and magnolia, sweet, seductive, and sensual, like her.

“Relax,” he said softly. A shiver of response ran through her as his lips grazed her ear. “Let go. I will help you.”

Slowly, her fingers unfurled, and she stood trembling and uncertain before the glass. The robe slithered open just a bit, giving him another heavenly peek at her creamy, full breasts, smooth thighs, and intimate curls.

His mouth went dry and his body hardened. He wanted to bury himself in her, to lose himself in her sweetness. By the sword, it had been far too long.

“Open your eyes, Evangeline,” he murmured against her hair. She was so shy and hesitant. She had no notion of her own power, thank the gods. The woman could lay him waste with a single glance. “I am about to open my present.”

She opened her eyes then, his curious, clever siren, and stared back at him. She had beautiful eyes, swirls of golden brown flecked with green, the eyes of a forest nymph, full of mystery and cool, mossy shadows. He could lose himself in their depths.

“Present? What present?”

“This,” he said, sliding his hands from her waist to her breasts.

The flimsy robe bunched at the shoulders and gaped open, framing the luscious globes and baring them to his hungry gaze. The thundering of his blood was so loud he could scarcely hear.

“You have lovely breasts, Evangeline. Large, firm, succulently round.” He caught the dusky tips between his fingers and gently tugged. “Truly magnificent. A man could love you for your bosom alone.”

“Ansgar!”

Her indignation at his chauvinistic remark made him want to chuckle.

“But there is more to you than a fine bosom, much more,” he said. “Let me unwrap the rest of my present, and I will show you.”

Before she had time to protest, he tugged the robe down her arms and tossed it across the room, leaving her naked for his perusal. A rosy blush stained the creamy satin of her skin, spreading from the tops of her perfect breasts, up the smooth column of her throat, to her lovely face. She quickly covered herself with her arms and would have made a dash for the discarded robe if he had not wrapped his arms around her, stopping her.

“When is the last time you really looked at yourself, Evangeline?” He buried his smile of amusement against the tender skin of her neck, pressing a hot trail of kisses there. She thought to cover herself. Little did she know that the pressure of her folded arms pushed her breasts up, giving him an enticing view of her cleavage.

“I look at myself all the time.” She stared at her toes, her arms covering her breasts. She wiggled the fingers of one hand at the small mirror over the dresser. “When I brush my hair and my teeth, and put on my makeup.”

“You have a lovely face, sweetling, but no more exquisite than the rest of you.”

“You’re making fun of me.” The uncertainty and self-loathing he heard in her voice tore at his heart. “I’m fat. Whaley Douglass. Thunder Thighs. Bucket o’ Lard. That’s what they call me.”

“I am
not
making fun of you,” he said, giving her a little shake. “Furthermore, I should turn you over my knee for suggesting such a thing. As, I believe, I have promised to do if ever you uttered such nonsense in my presence again.”

She gasped and pushed against his arms. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, releasing her at once. She stepped away from him and gave him her back, her shoulders heaving. “Meredith and her harpies said those hateful things to you out of jealousy and spite.”

She turned to him with an expression of astonishment. “Meredith and her friends, jealous . . . of
me
?”

“Consumed with envy,” he said, closing the space between them. “And who can blame them? They are but pale, thin imitations of womanhood, whilst you are desire itself.” Cradling her face between his hands, he smiled down at her. “For the last time, Evangeline, you are not fat. You are lush and gloriously curved, thank the gods, but you are not fat.”

Unable to resist the sweet temptation of her lips any longer, he gave her a lingering kiss before he spun her around to face the mirror once more. “Look at yourself and see what I see.” He cupped her full breasts in his hands, his thumbs grazing her nipples. His face looked strained in the mirror, his tanned skin very dark against her creamy flesh. “Beautiful breasts with nipples that make a man want to taste them.” His voice sounded rough to his own ears. He was shaking now, very near the end of his control. His hands moved to the sharp indent above her flaring hips. “See how my hands nearly span your waist? To say that you are fat is absurd.” Turning her to one side, he caressed her sweetly rounded ass. “And this luscious bottom? Temptation itself. It makes me want to mount you like a stallion.”

The color in her face deepened. “Oh. You shouldn’t say such things.”

“Why not? It is the truth.” Turning her once more toward the glass, he swept his hand across the slight curve of her stomach to the reddish-gold curls at the juncture of her thighs. “And here . . .” His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he brushed his fingers between the sensitive folds. “Here you are beautiful, too, velvet soft, with all the blushing sweetness of a ripe peach. And you know how I love peaches.”

He slid his finger inside her and heard her rapid intake of breath. The tiny sound made everything in him tighten another notch. She was damp and ready for him. He groaned aloud. He could not help himself. He wanted her too badly. Her sheath would be slick and hot, and when she came—and he would make sure she did—her pulsing delight would send him hurtling over the edge.

She watched him, wide eyed as a doe, as he played with her. It was an erotic sight beyond his wildest dreams. She, standing naked against his fully clothed body, his hand between her legs bringing her to pleasure. Her cheeks were flushed, and her breasts rose and fell rapidly.

“Evangeline,” he said. The words came out a desperate rasp. “How can I make you see? You are beauty and desire, light and laughter to me, a feast for body and soul. I am like a beggar at a banquet, famished for want of you. Let me in before I perish.”

She turned to him then, surprising him, and laid a gentle finger across his lips. “I want you, too. Something crazy. We’ve known each other less than two days, but it feels like I’ve known you forever.
Wanted
you forever. I don’t understand it, but that’s the way it is.”

He did not burn alone. The knowledge made him want to shout with possessive joy and relief.

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he murmured, placing a hot kiss in the center of her palm.

“Stop talking and make love to me. Please.”

Chapter Twenty-three

I
t was a bold thing to say, totally un-Evie-ish. After a lifetime of being petrified of doing or saying the wrong thing, it was exhilarating to let go and not worry about making a mistake. No matter what happened, Ansgar had given her that, the courage to step away from the prison of herself.

With a muttered curse, he yanked her into his arms and gave her a scorching kiss. Evie clung to him, reveling in the feel of his strong, unyielding body, the raw masculine power barely held in check. She was shameless, but she didn’t care. She was on fire for him. Any hotter, and the government would requisition her as a permanent energy source.

Even more amazing, he wanted her, too. The evidence was unmistakable. She could feel the hard length of his erection through his jeans.

He’s horny,
her wiser self cautioned.
It doesn’t mean anything. The guy’s majorly gorgeous. He’s probably got more girls than Carter has little liver pills.

Maybe so. But right here and now he was horny for
her,
and that was a great big something in the Evie universe.

It was a big something in his universe, too. Demon hunters weren’t supposed to fraternize with human females. There were rules against that sort of thing. Addy said so. The old Evie, the perennial good girl and rule follower, would be worried about that.

The new Evie, the one clinging naked and unabashed to six feet four inches of hard-muscled male, was throwing the rule book out the window.

Doing the mambo jambo with Ansgar would probably be the biggest mistake of her life, the most
gloriously
wonderful mistake of her boring, little life.

Evie couldn’t wait. She put her hands on Ansgar’s shoulders and pushed. He released her at once and stepped back. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were so dilated they looked black. His face was taut and strained.

“Take off your shirt,” she said.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt. I want to see you.”